A Slightly Great Adventure
by HugeTractsOfLand
Summary: Amy Jones is a vain, self-centered centuries-old teenager who's hell-bent on revenge and doesn't care who she uses to get it. She's also the Black Pearl's only way to find a certain fountain thought to be lost. It's funny how these things work out
1. The Shack

This is my first Pirates fanfic published here! I hope you'll all enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, Peter Pan, or either work's characters. I own Amy and nothing else.

* * *

_The way out of trouble is never as simple as the way in._

_-Edgar Watson Howe  
_

* * *

The boy wasn't quite sure where he was. He also wasn't sure why a band of native youths had attacked him, nor was he sure of what had happened to his clothes. Hell, at this point he wasn't even sure of who he was.

He was sure of whom his father was, though. He had only met his father once, but once was enough. His father was William Turner, captain of a ship his mother had always claimed to be a myth.

The boy's mother was a bit of a mystery. For nine years and some months, she had been Mrs. Turner, the respectable widow of a man lost at sea, too distraught to remarry. But then those men came; pirates, the boy was sure of it now. Rather than do anything to stop them, the boy's mother had sent him to bed and spent the night talking to the villains.

The boy came to what looked like a safe place: a shack with stairs leading down to the river. Through the window, the boy could see someone in the first suitable dress he had seen since stowing away on the ship.

He knew not to talk to strangers, especially when he had already been attacked once that night, but he was desperate, and he could smell something delicious from inside. Besides, what more could happen to him? He'd already been beaten half unconscious and had his clothes stolen. He climbed the stairs, took a deep breath and knocked.

The door opened to reveal the prettiest young woman the boy had ever seen. She looked down at him, then nodded and stepped back from the doorway. The boy looked up at her. She sighed impatiently.

"Well come in. And hurry up. I'm expecting company.

* * *

"Here," the woman handed the boy a shirt and a pair of trousers, "They may not fit right, but they'll do."

The boy stuttered his thanks.

"Would you like some stew?"

The boy nodded quickly. He watched as she ladled the warm stew into a wooden bowl. The woman, though just as pretty as when she opened the door, didn't seem quite as young. When he first saw her, she had been in the middle of fixing her long brown hair and a bit of it was covering up her now apparent eye patch. More than just her tired blue eye told the boy she was older than she seemed. There were no wrinkles on her face, and she looked youthful, but there was a tiredness in her arms as she held the pot that the boy saw in his mother's stance whenever she looked at him.

"Do you have a name?" the woman asked, putting the bowl on the table along with a bit of bread and cheese.

"Turner, Ma'am," said the boy.

"Don't call me ma'am. Do you have a first name?" When the boy stayed silent, she sighed gently. "Then I guess I'll have to come up with one for the time being, won't I?" She looked at him gingerly eating his stew. "Slightly. Yes, that will do."

"I like it very much ma—miss."

"Yes, well," the lady smiled, "My name is Amy, Slightly." She walked into the other room, calling behind her, "Clean up when you're done, and I'll show you the rest of the house." Slightly watched her with a new fondness and continued his supper.

* * *

Slightly was lying in the bed Amy had provided in a small room when he heard a knock on the door. Through the partly-open door to the small room, he could see Amy straightening her skirt as she went to the door.

"You're very late," he heard Amy say as she opened the door.

"You're very old," responded a man whose voice Slightly knew he had heard somewhere before.

"Don't make me change my mind." Amy and two other people came into the house. Amy's blue skirt and two pairs of very old, very dirty boots came into view.

"You haven't changed this place much since she left," the man who had spoken earlier commented. He sounded a bit surprised.

"It's not mine to change."

"She won't be needing it, and you can't be very pleased with how it looks now."

"I know, but you see, I can't change a house that isn't mine more than I absolutely need to. It's bad form."

"Isn't it bad form for ye to live in another's home at all?" the other man said, speaking for the first time.

"Of course, Hector. But it's better form to borrow someone's home than to live on the streets or, God forbid, sail all the time. What kind of person would prefer that to—"

"I see," said the man Hector, cutting Amy off.

"Very Well," Slightly could hear something different in Amy's voice, as if she was smiling. "On to business: How many people are drinking from the fountain?"

"Well, the two of us obviously," said the first man.

"Aye, and Pintel and Ragetti, who've been on the Pearl almost since yer brother called it up," added Hector.

"Gibbs, Marty the Midget…"

"Aye, and Mister Cotton."

"Oh, and Elizabeth Turner," It was then that Slightly realized where he had heard the two voices before. These were the pirates who had called on his mother so late that night, and who had been on the ship he stowed away on.

"That isn't the same Elizabeth Turner who married William Turner now, is it?"

If Slightly had known Amy better, he would recognize that tone of her voice. As it was, he could only wonder at why the first man sounded suspicious when he said, "Of course."

"Tell me, does Mrs. Turner have a son?"

"Aye."

"And is her son coming too?"

"No, she didn't want him too."

"What?" Amy's voice began to escalate. "Do you mean to say that this woman wants her son to face his mortality while she and her husband sail about for all eternity?"

"That's the idea, yes."

"What the hell kind of mother condemns her son to death while she gets to live forever?"

"This kind." The man called Hector's voice sounded sharp. "Ye can't expect every mother to want her child."

"I can bloody well expect every mother to love her son, whether she wanted him or not."

"Such language," Slightly could see the first man's legs move closer to Amy's skirt, "It doesn't suit you, love. Will you take us or not?"

"I don't suppose I have much choice. After all, I can't go back on my word. "'Twould be in bad form."

"You're truly a gem, love," the first man said.

"I know. Oh, and I may bring along a lad to help me. That won't be a problem, will it?"

"Ye can't just –"

"Or I could not come," Amy quickly broke of Hector's complaint.

"Fine, but only one. Be at the edge of the wilderness by noon tomorrow. Amy led the others out of Slightly's view, and he heard the door open.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you gentlemen." The pirates left quickly, as if glad the experience was over.

Amy let a smile flit across her lips before looking at the partly open door to the spare room holding Slightly. She softly walked in. "Slightly?" Her voice sounded soft, concerned.

"Y-yes, Miss Amy?"

"Did you hear all of that?"

"I-I think so. But I don't understand it all. What's the Fountain?"

Amy sat down on Slightly's bed. "The Fountain of Youth is a magical fountain. Whoever drinks from it becomes immortal. It's a long journey, but the reward is great enough to make up for it."

"But who were those men? Why were they talking to you about it?"

"Those people were Captains Hector Barbossa and Jack Sparrow of the_ Black Pearl_. They want to drink from the Fountain. They came to me because it's my job to take people to it."

"And about that Mrs. Turner…"

"What about her?" Amy's eyes grew wide. "Oh. She isn't your mother, is she?"

"Well, yes."

"I can't believe I said such things about her," Amy said contritely, "I'm sure she's a lovely woman, even if she doesn't care much for you."

"Well, I know that if I had a chance to live forever, I'd want my son to live forever too. I've not met a loving mother who wouldn't."

"But she must have a reason."

"Of, of course she does. Every woman who doesn't truly love her child has a reason, but that doesn't change the fact that she wants to live while you die."

"Do you really think so?" Slightly's voice faltered. He never thought such a thing was possible, but why would Amy lie?"

"I once had a son, you know. He ran away when he was very young and, though I spent years searching, I never saw him again. There isn't a day that goes by that I didn't wish I had done something differently so he could be with me today. He'd be about your age now."

"And most mothers feel the same way about her children?"

"But of course." Slightly felt a lump rise in his throat at this. Was it possible his mother didn't care for him? They had never been close, and she sometimes seemed more concerned with whom he associated himself with than that he enjoyed himself, but she offered him a home and a warm bed, and what more could he ask for from, her?

Amy watched Slightly as he thought, and finally she spoke again, saying, "I don't suppose you'd like to travel to the Fountain with me?" Slightly's voice suddenly felt lumpless.

"Do you really mean it?"

"Why not? I'm sure there are plenty of people on the _Pearl_ who could use a lad like yourself's help. What do you say?"

"I'd like that very much, Miss Amy." Amy smiled in the darkness.

"Good. Now, get some sleep. I want you to have enough energy for tomorrow.

* * *

I hope you all enjoyed! Please Review!


	2. The New Passenger

Wow! I can't believe it's been so long! I took a lot of time holding off, waiting to see the latest movie (which I just saw. I've heard a lot of bad things about it, but I really enjoyed it) so I could figure out how to make this story as true to the films as possible. I hope you guys like the result!

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of The Caribbean, or Peter Pan.

**Chapter two**

* * *

_Men like women with a past because they hope history will repeat itself_

_-Mae West_

* * *

The next day, as the sun was moving directly above the _Black Pearl_, Amy came to the shore, behind her a group of natives carrying trunks full of what Captain Hector Barbossa assumed to be her many posessions.

"Lads, she's here!" he called out, "Line up!" The crew of the _Pearl_ fell to formation on the shore, while Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth Turner came to stand by Barbossa.

"Gentleman!" cried Amy as she came near the longboat, "How are you this fine day?" The natives began to load the boat with the trunks.

"You're very almost late love," said Jack.

"Almost, but not quite!" The long walk clearly had not dampened her spirits in any way.

"And where is your young friend? The one you said would help you?"

"Not far behind. In fact, there he is." Everyone looked to the edge of the swamp. Elizabeth gasped.

Emerging from the thick trees was a tall, thin boy of a bit more than nine years of age. His dark hair was dirty, but someone had obviously taken pains to keep it neat and in place. His clothes were practically antiques and too small for him (his arms and legs stuck out at least five inches), but they were in almost pristine condition.

"Everyone, meet Slightly!" Amy's smile grew to a grin. Elizabeth grabbed Jack's arm.

"Gah! What, woman?" he exclaimed as her nails dug into his shoulder.

"What the _hell,_" asked Elizabeth through gritted teeth, is my _son_ doing here?

* * *

Amy was quick to establish her position on the _Pearl_. The best empty cabin was now hers, Slightly could help any of the men, unless she said otherwise, and, since the food "wouldn't suit a starving prisoner who couldn't tell the difference between a slice of beef and a worm," she would handle the meals. This did not sit well with Elizabeth Turner.

"It's as if she expects everyone to just accept everything she says as absolute truth," she said to Jack the second evening of their voyage.

"Well she's used to getting her way, love."

"That's no excuse to be rude."

It was during those peculiar hours when dinner is over, and it's too late in the day to start anything, but it's still too early to even think about going to bed. Sparrow and Elizabeth were leaning against the railing, each with a bottle of rum in his hand.

Jack shifted his weight. "The thing you need to realize, love," he said, "is that Amy's been sailing since before either of us was even born. To her piracy isn't a way of life, or a big adventure the way it is to some of us. She sees it as a job, and she does it better because of that. She's earned the right to have her way, and she'll get her way, no matter how, so we may as well give it to her, savvy?"

"You know, everyone defends her. Not just you, but everyone. You don't all owe her money, do you?"

"No, of course not."

"Well that's relieving. I'd hate for you all to have a debt to her."

"But quite a few of us have slept with her, me included." Elizabeth choked on her rum.

"Her?" she asked once she had stopped coughing.

"It was years ago."

"Yes, but her?"

"She's a beautiful lass, and I've never heard of her turning anyone down. Why not take advantage of that?"

"Yes, but _her_?"

"Please, love. You know me."

"You I understand," Elizabeth amended, "but it's still strange."

"That's Amy, love. She'll bed any man who asks politely, and a lot of men are willing to be polite for her."

"When you say most of us," Elizabeth more thought out loud than asked, "who do you mean?"

"Obviously me."

"Obviously."

"Marty, Pintel, Gibbs, Cotton before he lost his tongue, Barbossa—"

"What?"

"Aye, but nobody's sure if Cotton's parrot is telling the truth. When he tells the story, he may actually be telling us to hoist the sails."

"No, I meant Barbossa," Elizabeth took a sip of rum, "He doesn't seem like he'd do _that_ with just anyone."

"Love, you don't understand. Amelia isn't just everyone. She knows how to make every man fall for her, even me. Most men never forget her. But Hector fell the hardest, and he fell the longest. That's why we went looking for the _Isle De Muerta_ instead of going for the Fountain from the start. That was back when he was my first mate."

"Really? The same Barbossa?"

"As much of the same Barbossa as could survive."

"What do you mean?"  
"He got too attached. See, Amy doesn't like to feel strongly for anyone, she's gotten hurt that way before. So, if she starts to get too close to a man, he's bound to get his heart broken. Hector, he thought he was special. He was Amy's favorite; he thought that would be enough reason for her to change her life completely. Amy didn't agree."

"So what happened?"

"He proposed. Went to her house, back when she was living in a real house, got one one knee, pulled out the best ring someone else's money could buy and asked her to make him the happiest man in the world."

"And then what?"

"She slapped him across the face and sent him away. She kept the ring though."

They both were quiet for a time, occupied with their thoughts.

To be honest, Elizabeth wasn't sure how she felt about Barbossa. On one hand, he was the one to marry her and Will, and she was comfortable enough to sail with him to God knows where. On the other, he had once kidnapped her with the hopes of spilling her blood, all so he could enjoy eating an apple. But her dislike for Amy was much stronger than her complicated feelings about Barbossa.

"That was awful."

"Sorry?" Jack's mind had been miles away, in Tortuga, in the bedroom of a young wench with her and her conservative-seeming, yet surprisingly adventurous sister-in-law.

"That was awful of Amy to refuse him like that. What was she thinking?"

"I'm not sure, love. She cared about him, though. He knew it, I knew it, and everyone knew it. I think that might have been the reason. See, she's gotten married three times since I met her, and all three husbands died mysteriously, leaving her these massive fortunes. Maybe she didn't want Barbossa to meet the same fate."

"'Mysteriously?'"

"The last time, there was almost a scandal."

"What the hell kind of woman are we dealing with?"

"One who's seen it all and done it all, or at least everything worth seeing and doing."

* * *

Inside her cabin, Amy was hard at work finishing filling her wardrobe. Although it had been ten years since she had last sailed, the _Pearl's_ movements were still familiar, comforting. Amy's brother had once said that your ship was like a second home, once where you learn how to sail and how to live, and where your crew was your family. Never had she understood him until now that she was once again able to stroke the wall fondly.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Amy spun around to see Barbossa standing in the doorway.

"A gentleman knocks before entering a lady's quarters, Captain."

"Aye, but I see no lady," Barbossa fully entered the cabin, closing the door with the crutch under his arm.

"But what if I was dressing?"

"It's a bit late to be thinking of modesty, don't ye think?" Barbossa continued to move towards her.

"It's never too late to think of modesty. Why just this morning, I was thinking—"

"Amy," He was now so close to her, she could feel his breath on her skin.

"Hector." Her voice cracked. Barbossa's fingers began to move instinctively up her arms, the over her collarbone, drawing back memories of promises, promises he kept and promises she broke. It wasn't until Barbossa's hand started to go lower that he even looked at Amy's necklace.

At a distance, it looked like a simple heart-shaped locket dirtier and older than most of Amy's accessories, but not strangely so. Now Barbossa could tell it wasn't a heart, but a crab with a face on top of its shell. The locket was beautiful, but disturbing, and all too familiar.

"How did ye get this?"

"It was a gift," Amy reached for Barbossa's hand, "from my brother."

"What?" Barbossa grabbed Amy's wrists, his face alight with fear and anger, "How did he give this to ye? Is he back?" He squeezed her writs tighter. "Tell me!"

"You're hurting me!" Barbossa almost immediately calmed and he let her go. Muttering an apology, he slumped onto Amy's bed, still obviously anxious. For a minute, she just stood there, looking at him. Then she slowly came towards him.

"She gave it to me," she said, resting her hand on his shoulder. Barbossa lifted his head and looked at her, "Said it was a gift from him."

"Amy," Hector began as she sat next to him.

"He's never coming back. Once the sea claims you, there's no way to come home." She cleared her throat, "Not even for Davy Jones."


	3. Dinner With The Captains

Here's the next chapter. I'm quite proud of this one.

Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney.

Peter Pan belongs to Great Ormond Street Hospital.

Liberties have been taken with Jean Bart's story. This portrayal of him is not meant to be historically accurate.

* * *

_Reality is something you rise above_

_-Liza Minnelli_

* * *

Jean Bart was not feeling well, not that he ever did. Even when he was younger, he had been horribly overweight, and now that he had stopped worrying about his health, he could barely stand. He hadn't realized that immortality wouldn't keep him healthy; when he had "died" of pleurisy, only the death was faked. When he had been traveling with that woman, he had believed that her good health and nearly flawless body were a product of the Fountain, rather than of hard work. Bart had had enough hard work in his lifetime. Now he just wanted to find her and make her existence as miserable as his now was.

Jean Bart's health was not all that troubled him. That woman had not been like his wives; she was Amalie. Young, yet wise from her years of wandering, Amalie had promised Bart that she would spend eternity with him, then once she got to France, she ran off with one of his children, and a daughter at that!

Bart felt cheated of his eternity of happiness, and he so hated to be cheated. But now they were catching up to her again; he had felt her that day when he had waddled on deck. Amalie was close, and she could not escape. Not this time.

It seemed that everyone on the _Pearl's_ crew was fond of Slightly, or at least everyone who the captains paid attention to did. Cotton was thrilled to have someone who listened to his parrot without any skepticism (or so Cotton's parrot claimed). Mr. Gibbs had always been fond of the younger sailors during his days in the navy, and Slightly had the spunk Gibbs loved to see in a novice. Marty the Midget was just glad to face someone standing without getting a view of _far too much._ He and Slightly were both terribly fond of climbing, and each would try to get higher than the other whenever they weren't working; Amy despaired of her boy (for Slightly was inarguably _her_ boy and not Elizabeth's) surviving to reach the Fountain. Pintel and Ragetti, who were usually so exclusive, quickly welcomed Slightly into their little fraternity, comprised of the two men and Barbossa's pet monkey.

Amy, of course, loved Slightly. There was no one she would rather be with, no voice she would rather hear. It was alarming to Elizabeth to see a woman actually look at _her_ son like that woman was his mother. She knew something must be going on, but she was at a loss as to what.

"Ye can't keep him."

The sea was strangely still, as if it was impatiently expecting something, but that something hadn't yet decided whether or not it would.

"Ye can't keep him" Barbossa repeated when Amy didn't respond.

"Who said I wanted to?" Amy was busy mending a pair of Slight's trousers; he was always _ever so_ hard on the knees.

"Ye look at him like he was yer own. Ye treat him like a child."

"Hector, he _is_ a child."

"Aye, but he's not yer child. Ye can try to make him forget her—don't argue, I know yer trying to—but he's still Elizabeth's son. Ye can't just take him from her."

"Maybe I don't want to. Maybe _he _wishes _I _was his mother. Did you consider that?"

All Barbossa said to that was, "He can't replace what ye lost." Amy glared at him and began to gather her sewing things.

"When have I _ever_ tried to replace what I've lost? In case you haven't noticed, I let myself forget whenever I lose something that may have mattered to me. No_ boy_ has ever made me changed my mind, although you may wish otherwise." She stood up. "Oh, and you do know that someone's following us, right?" She began to walk away.

"Is that a threat?" Barbossa called after her, but Amy didn't even turn around. _She's mad,_ though Barbossa._ Utterly, barking mad._ The sea was peaceful; there was not a ship in sight. All the same, Hector couldn't shake the feeling that there was something out there no mortal could see.

Dinner that evening was not a pleasant affair, especially in the captain's cabin, where Amy, Elizabeth, Jack, and Barbossa shared their meal. Barbossa was worrying about what was following them, Elizabeth was worrying about Amy's closeness to Slightly, Amy was worrying about her closeness to Slightly, Jack was worried that his companions were losing focus on the task at hand, and Jack the monkey was probably worried about something monkey-related like the decreasing number of bananas onboard. Really, the only pleasant thing at that dinner table was the actual dinner, but everyone was so busy worrying, they hardly noticed.

"I've been wondering," said Elizabeth when the meal was over, and they were all just sitting at the table, "If this is the same Fountain that Jack and Barbossa already found."

"As far as I know, there's only one Fountain of Youth," Amy said as she delicately wiped her lips with a napkin.

"But it was destroyed. Jack said the Fountain was destroyed."

"Well, Mrs. Turner, I have a knack for finding things thought to be lost." Elizabeth wasn't satisfied.

"What exactly do you mean by that, _Miss Jones_?"

"She's just playing with you, love," piped up Jack. "That Fountain was like a visitor's entrance. Amy can take us inside the back door."

"But what about those whose lives are taken? Whom are you using?"

"'Lives taken?'" Amy laughed. "That's just an old wives' tale. It's a story made up to make you consider what you lose when you gain immortality. It's one of my better stories—very believable, no?"

"But it's true. That story's true. Jack told me; it's how Blackbeard died," said Elizabeth. "What are you playing at?"

"Ah. Well, that's an unfortunate side effect. You see, when a story is so widespread, it's regarded as truth, it can sometimes become true." Amy attempted a sheepish grin. "But it really doesn't matter, because I'll be there, and different rules apply to me, so it won't be an issue."

"See, love?" said Jack to Elizabeth. "Amy will take care of us."

"Aye, if she doesn't get us killed first." The three diners jumped. They had forgotten Barbossa was sitting there at the darkest end of the table, his face covered in shadows. "Who exactly is following us?"

"Somebody's following us?" Jack looked more serious than he had in years. "Nobody told me someone was following us. Who's following us?"

"Nobody's following us," Amy tried to say reassuringly. Nobody was convinced. "Well, someone _might_ be following us, but I don't know who. It might be someone looking for me, or one of you, or maybe it's nothing, or it might be an old friend; Hook should be coming back sometime soon."

"Hook?" Elizabeth almost laughed. "Jas Hook? The only man Barbecue feared?"

"Aye, and Flint himself feared Barbecue."

"But he's not real! He's just a story made up to frighten children!"

"Is that so?" Amy looked amused. "So James Hook is just a story?"

"Of course. Only a fool would believe him to be real."

"And Neverland? That's a story too?"

"Of course." Elizabeth was beginning to wonder if Amy was touched in the head. "How could it not be?"

"For a woman on a legendary ship sailing towards a mythical fountain, you place quite a lot of faith in fact. Don't you find that odd?"

"What do you mean?" demanded Elizabeth. Amy sighed.

"Let me put it this way, Mrs. Turner. Fact and fable are not as separate as you may think. Truth and fiction, well, they often blend together. Some myths have been written down as history; some truths have been disregarded as legend. The only way to know if something is real or not is to ask someone who was there. Now, I was there, and I can assure you, Hook and his ship are real, and Neverland is just as real as it is unreal."

"You're mad," said Elizabeth. Amy chuckled.

"That's very possible."

"You really think this is a good idea?" Elizabeth asked Jack and Barbossa. "Trusting a madwoman?"

"The world's mad," said Barbossa, "so who better to guide us than a madwoman?"


	4. A Change in the Plan

I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean or Peter Pan

* * *

_A smart girl leaves before she is left_

_-Marilyn Monroe_

* * *

There had been something in the air since the voyage had begun; Slightly could feel it. At first he had thought it was just excitement at the prospect of an adventure cutting into his previously dull life, but now he wasn't sure. Now it felt more like something sinister was afoot. Or perhaps, something sinister had always been afoot, and Slightly was only now realizing it. But who was it who had the sinister intentions? The only people on the ship Slightly actually trusted were his mother, about whom he knew very little, and Miss Amy, about whom he knew even less.

Miss Amy, she was something bizarre. She was very clearly childless, yet she seemed to care for Slightly like she would a son. It was strange. She was strange.

"You know, you're a bit strange," said Amy that evening.

"Strange? How so, Miss Amy?" asked Slightly.

"You don't act like most children. Most children want to be young forever, yet you seem to want to grow up as soon as possible."

"Is that wrong, Miss Amy?"

"Not wrong; it's just… strange. You should try to enjoy being young while you can. The world is so much less magical when you're a grown-up."

"It's not so magical when you're young neither."

Amy smiled. "I suppose much of the magic is only in your memories. Bult Slightly, there are wonders in this world far beyond the imaginations of any adults." She looked at him with a strange kind of intensity. "Don't stop looking for those wonders, or something very bad will happen."

"What? What happens to people who _do _stop?"

"They get… well, they get bitter. They care less for joy and more for money, and they lose sight of what's important. Or sometimes they lose sight of _who's_ important."

"Why aren't you bitter, Miss Amy?" She laughed.

"You're kind to say I'm not bitter. I am, of that I have no doubt. Yet I'm not as bitter as some, for I still look for joy even in the least wonderful of places. I don't need Neverland to feel amazed."

"Wot's Neverland, Miss Amy?"

"'What's Neverland?' My dear boy, surely you know about Neverland." Slightly shook his head, feeling rather foolish. "It's an island. It's different for everybody, but it's always an island. Not a large one, quite small, and it's nicely crammed so there's hardly any space between one adventure and another. And, of course, that's where Peter lives when he isn't going to bedroom windows to snatch stories, or leading children who have died partway."

"Peter?"

"Don't tell me you ddon't know of Peter Pan. The boy who never grew up? Leader of the Lost Boys?"

"My mother told me that he was a fairy tale."

"But you know who he is?"

"I suppose so," muttered Slightly. "Who are the Lost Boys"

"They're children who get separated from their mothers and nurses when they aren't being watched carefully enough. If nobody claims them in seven days, they are sent to Neverland to join Peter's band.

"And what do they do?"

"Well, you know, they play and fight and pretend, and act like all boys."

"Who do they fight?"

"_Whom_. They fight the Redskins and the pirates, and sometimes each other. But when they fight the pirates, they have to let Peter face Hook."

"Hook? _Captain_ Hook? He's real too?"

"Of course. But I'll have to tell you some other time; stories about him aren't the kind you tell in the dark. You should get to bed anyway."

"Alright." Slightly then did something Amy didn't anticipate, which is saying something, because she ususally would anticipate everything. He hugged her tightly around the middle. Then Amy did something that surprised her even more.

She hugged him back.

Perhaps she _was _getting soft. Was that even possible? Could she, after hundreds of years of hard coldness, be letting someone in angain? It must be a possibility; she had been softer many years ago, but she had been quite determined to not put herself in that position again. So why was she letting that boy get under her skin so? Something clearly had to change.

The next morning dawned bright and neat-looking, as if it was a perfectly normal day. But it was so far from perfectly normal.

It started with Hawkins. Now, Hawkins was by all appearances, a perfectly normal sailor. He was of average height and build. He was not so adept a crewmember that he stood out or wasx popular, but he was not so incompetent that he was only kept around for comic relief. On that morning, however, there was something that set him apart from everyone else:

Hawkins was dead.

It was not quite clear what had killed him. He was just found lying on the deck, dead as a doornail. There was no sign of struggle, and Hawkins had always seemed healthy, although nobody cared enough to bother to find out if he really was.

The signs seemed to point towards poison, but as far as anybody knew, Hawkins had no enemies. Interestingly, that was precisely _why_ Hawkins had been chosen.

Regardless, a man was dead, and with deaths at sea comes a great ship, a ghost ship some call it. Usually, the ship would just take the body as it fell to the depths, but the captain had many connections to the_ Black Pearl_, and he couldn't ignore the opportunity to see ever link to land he had. Such sentimentality always serves the clear-thinking.

William Turner was a handsome man, a kind man, a skilled swordsman, but not an altogether _wise_ man. If he was, he wouldn't have appeared on the deck of the_ Pearl _without any protection knowing, as he knew, that Amelia Jones was present. As it was, he was just as shocked as everyone else to see her come up to him with Turner's son in her arms and a loaded pistol pointed at the boy's head.


End file.
